


Belated Advanced Warning

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV), Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Explicit Language, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Malcolm thinks no one can screw up a good day quite like the pinheads at DoSAC, he gets a visit from the British Government himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belated Advanced Warning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alocin42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alocin42/gifts).



> I don't often feel the need to do this, but there may be a hint of bad language in this. Oh, and written for this [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=118108959#t118108959) at the Sherlock Kink Meme and Alocin42, who is inadvertently responsible for introducing Curly Wurlies to my life.

Malcolm knew it was going to be a hell of a day from the moment he received the call about how Nicola Murray had made the mother of all shites in her interview with the papers. Because it didn’t matter what the fuck the woman stood for, the fact remained that she sounded very much like she was trying to cut funding to the fucking elderly. Which meant he had to bat away everyone and the gran to keep them from shoving their heads up his arse over the whole fiasco.

Marching into her office, he glared at all the useless hair brained pencil pushing do nothings standing there, giving her news about something that he didn’t care about. “All of you get out of here before I string you up with your own arteries.”

Glenn quickly stopped whatever he was saying mid-sentence, while Terri didn’t even think twice before making her way toward the door. Looking between Nicola and Malcolm, Ollie looked as though he wasn’t sure who was worth angering most, though when Malcolm clenched his jaw, tired of waiting on them, the prepubescent streak of piss muttered something about work before leaving, Glenn following after him a bit reluctantly 

Shutting the door behind them, Malcolm chuckled humourless as he shook his head. From where she stood behind her desk, Nicola watched him nervously, which was good Malcolm thought as he rubbed at the corner of his mouth. It proved that she could occasionally sense when something bad was going to come from the scatterbrained things she tended to say.

“Typically I’d call you a cunt, but that would imply I actually had some sort of use for you and I’m pretty sure I don’t since I spent my entire fucking morning wondering why the fuck do I keep letting you open your mouth in public,” He said with a good deal of false joy in his voice.

“Malcolm, I know what I said sounded bad, but really it’s only because—“

“It’s only because you have the verbal filter of a mentally ill five year old. You know, I’m beginning to think you’d even manage to say something idiotic in a silent film.”

“Really. I don’t think that—“

“No! You don’t think. Because if you were even twice as smart as you are now, you’d still be too dense to know when to just avoid saying anything. Do I have to stand there holding a gun to your head to help you learn that you and reporters go about as well together as a getting an enema with a fire hose?”

“Great. You keep insulting me because that solves everything,” Nicola said, obviously already feeling rather defeated for reasons Malcolm didn’t care about.

Between that gobshite husband of hers and those devil spawn she called kids, Malcolm figured she would either suck it up or hold it in until later because right now was his turn to tear her down and he didn’t like to share his moments with anyone.

Opening his mouth to inform her of such, he stopped when someone knocked on the door.

“Go the fuck away. I’m in the middle of a ritual bloodletting.”

“Technically bloodletting was more of a medical practise than ritual one,” Mycroft said as he walked into the room. Nodding at Nicola and Malcolm, out of politeness, he clasped his hands behind his back as he stood by the door. “I find I need to have a word with you, Malcolm.”

“Yeah, well, it can wait until I’m done ripping her a  new one so large people can use her as a second chunnel.”

“I’d beg to differ on that.”

“Look, if you’re so desperate for a cheap thrill, go get yourself a fucking curly wurly. I’m kind of busy explaining why a fucking over excited poodle pissing on everything in sight would be better fit to run this place than Nicola here,” he said, noting the way Nicola only nodded along in that accepting little’ let him talk and he will leave’ sort of way. Like she was going to get off that easily.

“While that may be true I happen to have you down in my schedule for a ten-thirty clusterfuck, so if you could just meet me in the next office for that, I’d be most obliged.”

Stunned, Malcolm watched Mycroft walk out of the room before turning to Nicola, who seemed as though she didn’t know what to do. Pointing at her, he said in his calmest voice. “Don’t even think I’m done with you.”

With that said, he walked into the office next door, knowing that all the eyes in DoSAC were watching him. Likely wondering just what the fuck was going on, much like Malcolm, himself. Because despite the way that Mycroft leaned against the desk, casually sitting on the edge with that damn smile on his face, Malcolm knew that Mycroft Holmes didn’t do social visits. Fuck, the lazy fuckwit barely left his office unless it was important.

“If I had known you were using the fucking CCTV to watch me instead of your brother play doctor with his doctor, I’d have held all my meetings outside. Give you a nice good view of me as I eviscerate Murray.”

Wholly unimpressed, Mycroft merely gestured to the seat in front of him. “Care for a chair?”

“Only if I get break it into bits and pieces to jam into your every fucking orifice,” Malcolm shot back, as he stood near the door.

“Now really—“

“No. You see, while you’re sitting in that posh little office wanking to everything that happens in this city, I have real fucking work to do. Because not all of us are lucky enough to have a job that involves wiping the Queen’s fucking arse after every shite. I actually have to keep the morons you carefully placed in power from shoving their heads too far up their own arses on a daily basis. And, despite what your mum may have told you, you aren’t that special. You also aren’t that attractive and never going to grow into that beak you have the sheer bollocks to call a nose. I mean, for fuck’s sake, even babies know how to work a fucking mobile these days. So why you can’t seem to be arsed to make an appointment with Sam to give me some kind of fucking warning—“

“Terribly sorry to interrupt, but I have a schedule to keep. So while I know I am a lazy bastard who likely only got my job through the copious amounts of desks I had to bend over, much like how I’ve gotten everywhere in life, I really would like to get to the point,” Mycroft said, clearly tired of trying to give Malcolm the time it would take tire himself out like all small children eventually did.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Malcolm glared at the man. He really did hate it when other people interrupted his rants. Hated it even more when Mycroft did it because unlike everyone else, that near psychic cunt seemed to know just where Malcolm was going with his sentences, making the spin doctor feel as though he was getting predictable.

“Now that you’re quiet, I’m here to tell you that you might want to let this DoSAC situation slide.”

“What?! Since when do you give a shite about the going ons in DoSAC?”

“I’m concerned about all the dealings of our departments.”

“You’re not even concerned enough with half the Cabinet being eaten alive to get your lazy arse out of your office,” he said giving the man the once over. Leaning against the back of the chair, Malcolm sneered. “Why the fuck are you here?”

Opening his mouth, Mycroft paused for a moment, staring blindly at the window. It was clear that the man was sorting out something in that machine he called a mind, sorting out anything from his next meal to who the next three Prime Ministers would be. Blinking, he turned back to Malcolm with a look of utter boredom.

“I believe that’ll be your phone.”

Feeling it vibrate as the ringer went off, Malcolm could practically feel the massive piss being taken at his expense. Picking up the phone, he stood there calmly, never looking away from Mycroft’s soulless blue eyes.

“This better be really fucking important for you to interrupt me strangling a certain minor official with his own tie,” he said, speaking more to the man in front of him than the nervous pillock on the phone. “That’s not even possible. It was a private fucking press conference. How did that trussed up cokehead and his hobbit sized life partner even get in?!”

Malcolm didn’t even have to look at Mycroft to know that this was exactly why the other man was there. Had probably taken a break from his usual routine of eating everything in sight only to puke it back up to maintain that model thinness he’d only recently acquired.

“Look, tell him to keep his fucking mouth shut until I can get there and fucking flay him  so that way I can use his skin to make him into my new fucking briefcase, got it?”

Grimacing at the thought, Mycroft sat there quietly as Malcolm hung up the phone. Watching as the man began to pace the room, he calmly said, “I see the Deputy Prime Minister’s habits have finally caught up with him.”

“Don’t you even fucking start,” Malcolm growled, never once stopping his erratic movements. “How the fuck did that shitwit brother of yours even find out about this? I personally made sure this thing was dead and buried months ago. Put the bullet in its head and hammered each nail in the coffin one by one.”

“I suppose he failed to tell you about his... liaison with the Lord Chancellor’s underage daughter. Although, if Sherlock happened to bring up the Au Pair incident, that was rather unnecessary on his part.”

“Is this why you came down here? To completely blindside me before taking the piss?”

“Not entirely. It was felt someone should... warn you about this.”

“Well good fucking job you did with that. Was it the fact that you’re about as attractive as a bulldog licking piss off a thistle that lead you into politics instead of your dream job as a high priced whore?”

“The lack of legwork, actually,” Mycroft said thoughtfully, going with the spin doctor’s insults instead of arguing them. There was no way one could live with a person like Sherlock without learning how to avoid conflict. “Now, behave, or else I won’t tell you about the problem that’s bound to crop up over lunch.”

“No, you’re going to tell me, you pansy arsed Oxbridge pool of lizard spunk or else I’m going to rip out your intestines, sauté them in pinot noir, tie a quaint little bow around them and then feed it to that ancient bird your work for.”

“If I were you, I’d be worried about Tom’s involvement with the Au Pair, given the fact that he is the one who... ensured her employment, as it were.” Mycroft said, inspecting his nail. “Sherlock’s not likely to mention it, but given the fact that her name is likely to come up sooner or later, I figured you might want to handle this before the press got wind of it.”

“If you know this can go all the way up to the PM, why aren’t you having one of your little arse-brained chucklefucks handle this instead.”

“I am,” Mycroft said, staring pointedly at Malcolm. “Besides, there’s a certain matter involving a number of agents in... Well, you don’t really need to know the details of that.”

“So you decide to just come here, like some piss poor excuse for a mum and drop this shite covered baby in my lap? You’re more conniving than a French whore out to marry Sarkozy.”

 “Normally I would say you should have Sam contact Anthea to set up a lunch appointment, but since I fear you may be rather busy, dinner?”

“Is this your way of asking me on a fucking date? Have that horse faced nutter brother of yours piss all over my day just so you can come in here swinging your hairy bollocks around to prove who’s in fucking charge?” Malcolm asked, not bothering to hide the sheer amount of shock in his voice

Certainly most men... No. No man except Mycroft ever tried to drown him in political bullshit before asking for his company. Well, Julian did, but that man was about as thick as a horny whale’s cock.

Mycroft waved his hand dismissively at the question. “Certainly not. But by... eight tonight, I rather feel I’ll need you for... certain matters.”

“It’ll take more than some bottle of wine to get me into bed with you. Unless, of course, I get to shove the bottle down your throat.”

“I’m never going to get a chance to eat lunch before that teleconference with Italy. Pity.”

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

“No. Dress like you actually have an important job instead of dressing like some underpaid school teacher, won’t you? And do have a lovely day, Malcolm. I’m assuming you’ve said all you have to and if you haven’t, well, you’re free to keep talking when I leave.”

Smiling politely, Mycroft nodded and left as quietly as he had arrived. To his credit, Malcolm withheld the urge to kill him, though a great deal of that was due in part to his phone ringing in his pocket. Picking it up, he took a calming breath before yelling at the poor fuck on the other line.

“What is it now?! No... No. Look, just tell him to wait in my office. I’m heading back now. Oh, and Sam? Call that prick, Mycroft’s assistant and set up dinner with him for tonight. I plan on cramming the salt and pepper shakers in his beady little eyes,” he said before hanging up.

Sighing, he shook his head before looking up at those DoSAC twats, all rushing about trying to pretend that they hadn’t been watching him talk to Mycroft the entire time. Had he the time, he would’ve happily ripped them all a new, but apparently he was relegated to dealing with the giant fucking shite storm that was this new MP incident.

Heading out, he stopped in Nicola’s office, a bit pleased when the woman jumped. “Somehow, there are bigger idiots than you working around here and I have to deal with them first. So why don’t you just sit there and pretend like you know how to do your fucking job until daddy gets back, ok?”

“You’re just leaving?” Nicola asked sounding stunned. Of course, as soon as she realized what it was she said, she quickly waved her hands. “Never mind. Everything here will be kept under control. You go.”

And while he wanted to cut her open and take a nice hot bath in the panic that had to be coursing through her veins at the thought of him staying, there were other people he had to handle and more than a warm up slaughtering to be done before he could get his chance at Mycroft fucking Holmes over dinner.


End file.
